


A Bird in the Hand

by RebaK1tten



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Crow Stiles, Derek's pack is alive, Everyone's alive, Good Parent Sheriff Stilinski, M/M, Mythical Creature, Shapeshifter Stiles Stilinski, Slow Burn, found baby, happy ending because it should be, lil bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2019-11-18 07:59:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18116606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebaK1tten/pseuds/RebaK1tten
Summary: Stiles is a shifter, he can turn into a crow like his mother could.And when an egg is found in the preserve, he absolutely needs to be the one who takes care of it. No matter what it turns out to be.His instincts -- they tell him the only safe place for a nest is at Peter's.





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles learned a lot from his parents.

His mother probably taught him to talk and walk, but of course he doesn’t remember that.

He does remember her teaching him the right way to make cinnamon toast and stuffed cabbage. She taught him how to transplants flowers from the little containers you buy at the home store into the pretty plaster pots she paints herself.

His father taught him to throw a softball and they’d spend an hour in the front yard tossing the ball back and forth while his mother sat on the front porch, her bare feet on the warm concrete, reading a magazine and tossing out the occasional encouraging comment.

They were both there helping him learn to ride his bike when the training wheels came off. “Don’t let me go! Don’t let me go!” he cried with his dad holding him as him mother ran along side.

“We got you, Mischief, don’t worry,” Claudia says, eyes shining as brightly as his own must be. “You’re riding on your own, your father’s barely holding you.”

Before Stiles can anything, Noah says, “I got you, haven’t let go.”

Stiles pedals a little more and then whispers, “Let go, Dad.”

Yes, he has to turn the bike to crash into some shrubberies to stop, but for those twenty feet or so, he was riding on his own.

 

Both are there again when he’s on a branch, looking at the ground, trying to get up his courage. His mother’s on the branch above him and his father, of course, he’s on the ground.

“Whenever you’re ready, son.”

Stiles looks over his shoulder at his mother, seeing pride and so much faith in her black eyes. He nods and steels himself, jumping out of the tree, flapping his wings as hard as he can. The ground gets really close, really fast, before something catches and he finds himself going higher again. He’s not sure about turning, but tries it, with a very wide circle. They can work on that later.

His father’s there, beaming with pride, hands clasped together in front of his grin. “Wow, great job, that’s my boy,” he says, looking up at Claudia with a proud smile.

They stay another hour, until the sun starts to set. Mother and son both change back, pull on their clothes and the family goes out to Burger King for a quick dinner.

 

His mother taught him about their town, about the safe places and places to avoid. “You don’t need to go into the preserve, Mischief. It’s a big place and there’s lots of places to get hurt; there’s animals there that are bigger than we are.”

“But Momma, it’s got _so many_ trees and it smells really good. And I can hear the mice.” He looks out the car window as they pass the preserve, sighing when his mother takes a turn that makes it fade in the distance. “So many mice.”

“There’s lots of mice by our house, too. It’s much safer in the park by our house. Don’t go chasing waterfalls, honey.”

“Is there a waterfall in the preserve?” he asks, leaning forward, still locked in his car seat. “Waterfalls are _cool_!”

Claudia chuckles, shaking her head. “We’ll have an outing when we get home, okay? You and me before Daddy gets home for dinner.”

It’s a promise for the right-now, and lets Stiles forget about the preserve and what might be there.

 

To say that Stiles wasn’t ready when his mother died… Well, who is ever ready, it doesn’t matter if you’re ten or sixty. Like most people when they’re left behind, there’s a lot his mother didn’t get a chance to tell him about life and about how special their life is. His father certainly can’t help, not with details about his particular skills and what to expect; certainly he doesn’t seem capable of discussing how Stiles might find his mate, the special someone who can rip his soul apart the way Claudia’s death seems to have destroyed Noah.

Stiles is ten years old, watching his father try to drown his sorrows in endless glasses of whiskey. Maybe, he thinks, maybe it’s better if you never find that one, special person.

Whether or not that’s true, one thing he was able to learn from his mother is to never, ever tell anyone who you really are. That’s a lesson he knows he’ll keep.

 

When he’s seventeen, Stiles finally meets other shifters and it’s not actually a good thing. A werewolf bites his best friend, the girl he has a crush on is bitten as well and suddenly it seems like high school is a lot less about cliques and a lot more about not dying.

He’s kind of amazed when things start to settle down, and the pack of werewolves starts to act like an actual pack. When he went to visit his mother’s family, he saw packs in the forest hunt together so he knows what to expect and what it should look like. This pack, led by cranky-pants Derek, isn’t quite as good as they could be, but still, not bad.

 

Okay, so he was involved with killing Peter, but that guy needed to be killed. Sorry, not sorry.

 

And when Peter comes back, Stiles isn’t sorry about that either, because good god, Derek needs help. They narrowly miss having their whole pack slaughtered by a kanima, this giant lizard-thing that Jackson turned into.

And then Stiles spends his summer helping to find Derek’s missing betas, Erica and Boyd. So that means he spends his summer relearning who Peter is, the Peter who’s back from the dead, smart and snarky and even though he swears he’s not as strong as he should be, he still looks like a dream. He knows a lot about supernatural history and he doesn’t seem shy about telling Stiles about werewolves and other shifters.

After they get their wayward betas back (and Peter lectures the two teenagers to hell and back about pack and loyalty and how they better not try that shit again) he and Peter still find reasons to spend time together. Of course there’s still big bad things roaming through Beacon Hills, and Stiles thinks there always will be. His mother used to tell him the land itself was ill and attracted more pain, so there’s always research and they’re the nominees to lead the research team. Or more honestly, they’re the entirety of the research team.

But that’s good. Sitting, mostly quiet, reading Peter’s old books, something he doesn’t share with other members of the pack. When Derek tries to look at them, Peter growls at him and pulls the book away. “Stiles needs that.”

Sure, Stiles isn’t stupid and he knows Peter watches him. Watches him, which is okay, and kinda flattering. Sniffing at him, however, isn’t necessarily a good thing. Sometimes he notices both Hales sniff at him, trading a look between them. Damn wolves need to mind their own business.

Stiles would absolutely shift and shit on Derek’s Camaro, don’t test him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something weird in the preserve (of course) and so the pack goes to check it out. 
> 
> And Stiles instantly bonds with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm so blown away by all the positive responses and comments on chapter one! Of course, I'm also really nervous to continue this now, so much to live up to!

There’s something’s in the preserve, according to Derek. He was out on patrol and he smelled it.

“What did it smell like? And don’t say ‘something,’ Derek, use your words.”

“I don’t _know_ what it smelled like, it wasn’t anything I’ve smelled before, that’s the _entire point,_ Stiles,” Derek growls out, eyes flashing.

Maybe that kind of thing makes his little wolf-babies cringe and show their throats, but it doesn’t impress Stiles a lot. “Then why should we be worried about it? Did it smell like a kanima? Did it smell like Deucalion’s cologne? If not, then who cares?”

Peter does that thing where he scratches his goatee and looks annoyed and hot at the same time. “We are actually familiar with the scent of most things in the preserve, Stiles. If Derek smells something he doesn’t recognize, that’s not good.”

“Cool, field trip then. Let’s go find the next thing that wants to kill us,” Erica says, standing and tugging down her tight jeans. Her t-shirt’s actually tucked in and it’s lose enough that she can breathe. It’s kind of a mellow look for her; one thing you learn running for your life is how to dress appropriately.

They might not be a perfect pack, but they do support Derek and in a few minutes everyone’s ready to go out and look for whatever it is that their alpha smelled.

 

Derek directs them, following his own stressed scent to where he was before. Not surprisingly, they end up by the Nemeton, because yes, this city is a hell-hole and if the Nemeton isn’t the entrance, it’s damn close to it.

“I hate this. Let’s figure it out and get out of here.” Derek leads them to where he smelled the whatever-it-was, and they break into groups to look for it.

Not too many groups. Stiles listed the movies where people get picked off one-by-one when everyone splits up. “For god’s sake, did none of you watch Scooby-Doo?” Of course, Stiles is with Peter and, because Scott doesn’t trust Peter, Scott’s in their group, which is fine. Unfortunately, because Isaac has an embarrassing man-crush on Scott, he’s there, too, which isn’t as fine, but whatever.

Isaac glances over his shoulder, squatting by a ring of mushrooms. “Why don’t you _not_ tell us all about it? And maybe try to be useful.”

“Why are you talking?” Stiles asks, stopping when Peter steps in between them, putting a surprisingly gentle hand on Stiles’ shoulder. Since it doesn’t look like he’s trying to defend Isaac, he continues, “What you’re looking at is nothing, Isaac; it’s probably your brains falling out of your ears

“Well, I smell something. Ozone, maybe or like that. Electric,” Peter says, eyes shut, taking deep breaths. “It’s fading, nothing that’s really permanent, I don’t think. But there was…something.”

“I think we should split up, at least two by two.” Scott takes a step closer to Isaac and Stiles isn’t a wolf, but can smell scarf-boy’s satisfaction.

“That’s a stupid fucking idea, Scott. Apparently, near-death isn’t close enough for you?”

“Stiles, it’s just the fastest way to get things done. I think we should split up you and Peter and… I dunno, you guys are the smartest with this weird stuff, so we could cover more ground. Isaac goes with Peter and I’ll go with you, so everyone’s protected. Okay?”

Stiles stops and looks at his best friend from childhood and can’t keep from grinning. “Scottie, that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. Smartest, too. Come on, bro, I’m gonna kiss you for that, come on in, no homo.”

“That’ll be new,” Isaac mutters, turning his back on the others as he walks towards Peter. “Okay, you lead.”

The older wolf snorts, not looking as he walks past Isaac. “We don’t need to move far apart, I think we’re in the right direction. And by the way, Stiles’ full homo is better other people who might be curious and chicken.”

“Let’s find whatever this is, and get outta here.” Stiles shoots a quick thank-you smile at Peter, not that he needs someone defending his sexuality; he’s determined he’s fully bisexual and proud, complete with the t-shirt and a really cute pendant he bought on Etsy. “I think it’s by the Nemeton, whatever it is. Around here, if there’s something weird, that’s where we’ll find it.”

 

They enter the clearing, dominated by the huge, gray stump. Stiles has never been completely comfortable here, remembering his mother’s warnings. After learning about Paige and the Nogitsune it had locked inside, he’s definitely not happy to be here.

“It’s here.” Peter looks around, fangs dropped and eyes shining blue as he sniffs the air.

Just like his mother taught him, Stiles stops to pay his respect to the Nemeton, kneeling beside it with a hand on its side. “Thank you for letting us come here and for protecting us,” he whispers, hoping it’s true. He stands and it hits him almost instantly. A sure feeling, knowledge that he’s supposed to be here for this.

“Stiles, where are you going?” Scott asks, and his panicked voice attracts both Isaac and Peter’s attention. “You’re supposed to stay away from that thing, not touch it or anything, right?”

Peter’ follows Stiles’ scent and finds the boy kneeling in front of an egg lying on the ground. “That’s not right. There’s something very not normal about that.” Peter says, squatting next to him, looking at the egg that’s caught Stiles’ attention. It’s just about the size of a duck egg, but there’s something…

“This is it. This is why we’re here,” Stiles says, gently picking up the egg, cuddling it to his chest. It’s just a little warm, maybe from sitting in the sun and Stiles has the overwhelming urge to grab it, and tuck it under his shirt and run away from all of them. He shuts his eyes, willing himself to calm down. Stiles isn’t sure what reaction he’d get it he looked up at his pack with his bird-black eyes, but he really doesn’t want to find out.

The rest of the pack show up a few seconds later, Derek in the lead, drawn in by the rising heartbeats of his betas. “What is it?” Derek asks and then rolls his eyes before someone (Stiles probably) can give the obvious answer. “What exactly is in that egg? Is it a bird or something? Reptile? Stiles, did you find a fucking dragon, because that’s the kind of thing you’d do.”

“It’s probably an owl or something, there’s owls out here, right? It’s not the supernatural thing you think is here, is it, Derek? That?” Scott asks, pointing towards his friend, who has his arms wrapped protectively around the egg.

Derek shrugs back at Scott and squats down next to Stiles and his uncle. “Do you know what it is? Should we look for its parents or whatever?”

“It’s not natural,” Peter says, reaching out to touch the egg that Stiles is coddling.

Stiles tries to keep himself from growling, and since it’s Peter and he remembers he trusts the man, he holds it in. There’s not a lot of other people he’d say this about, but he does trust Peter. “It’s something, I don’t know what. But I’m keeping it,” he states, glaring at the Hales.

“Let’s be sure something else isn’t keeping track of it, okay?” Peter rises elegantly, pulling off his sweater and wrapping it around Stiles’ shoulders. “Both of you keep warm, okay?”

They look around for another egg or a nest or a bird or something that owns Stiles’ new egg, but can’t find anything. A few minutes later, they come back to the clearing, where Stiles is sitting cross legged, the betas all sitting a few feet from him.

“Nothing, right?” he asks the alpha, smiling when Derek shakes his head. “There’s not the smell of anything here – I mean nothing anyone’s mentioned.”

“No, we couldn’t find anything, and no, I don’t smell anything else. Nothing…no lizard or bird or whatever. What else lays eggs?” Derek asks his pack.

“Fish? Insects?” Erica offers, leaning into Boyd’s side. She still doesn’t talk a lot around Peter, but she’s getting more comfortable talking to Derek. He’s forgiven her for leaving much more than Peter has.

“If an insect laid that egg, we’re totally fucked,” Isaac offers, snarling back when Stiles snarls at him.

“I’m taking it home. I can take care of it, I found it and I’ll keep it safe.” Stiles carefully gets to his knees, keeping the egg tucked in the front pocket of his hoodie. “It doesn’t have a mom, but this is what you were smelling and what wanted us here – something that knew there’s a pack and wanted us to find this.”

“Are you sure you should?” Scott asks, looking to Derek for support. Nothing comes from Derek, so Scott continues, “Remember when we did that thing in middle school where we had to take care of an egg like it was a baby and you threw yours at your partner? She cried, Stiles. You threw your baby!”

“That’s because it wasn’t a baby, it was a fucking chicken egg and how does that prove anything?”

“If it helps, family legend is that Peter’s the reason Beacon Hills High uses eggs for that little exercise, instead of baby dolls,” Derek offers, watching Stiles rubs the egg through his shirt, looking like he’s got a baby bump. It looks weird, but strangely right.

Peter seems to agree, standing just behind the younger man, close enough that Stiles feels his warmth. “When they took away the dolls mid-project and gave us eggs, I turned mine into a fried egg sandwich and ate it in front of my partner,” he says, smiling with a bit of fang sticking out over his lower lip. “I don’t know how one think that simplistic little project has anything to do with really caring for a life, but that’s the American school system, I guess.”

“Well, look, neither you nor Stiles would be my choice to take care of a baby, but this is an egg and Stiles is probably the only one who wants to take care of it.” Derek looks at his other pack members, noting how no one will meet his eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. But if it hatches Stiles has to let people know, and if it’s a dragon there’s no way in hell he gets to keep it. No Khaleesis in the pack. Understand?”

Alpha has spoken.

As usual, Peter is the helpful one, making sure Stiles is settled in his jeep, his egg nestled in Peter’s sweater. Peter supplied the first nest, so really, it’s all his fault.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles tries to find just the right place to hatch his egg. It's not his apartment. It's not his Dad's house. Hmm, what to do, what to do?

 

“Here we are, home sweet home.” Stiles takes the egg to his bedroom, cuddling it and finally putting it on his pillow, where he hope it’ll be comfortable. He puts Peter’s sweater under it, and shifts to his more comfortable bird form, settling in for a bit. He’s not sure how long the egg was on its own, but it’ll probably appreciate the warmth and the familiarity of his shifted form. Maybe. Assuming there’s any bird in there. The wolves say it’s alive, so that’s good.

But no matter what he does and what form he’s in, he can’t get comfortable and it just doesn’t feel like it’s right. Which might be understandable as he has no idea what kind of egg he’s sitting on. And he’s never sat on an egg before.

He shifts to his person shape and pulls his laptop to the nest he made on his bed. He takes a few minutes to look through the beastiary, but he can’t find anything. Going back to his crow shape, he uses his beak to pull his warm clothes around the nest and that’s better, but something’s still not right.

“ _Okay_ ,” he thinks, “ _long day, you and I are taking a nap. And then you’re going to try to hatch_.” After a quick sleep he shifts back to regular, human Stiles which is a lot easier when he needs to check his phone. There’s a message from Peter asking how they’re doing and he’s surprised how happy that makes him. He buries his face in the sweater from Peter that made it into the nest. Good idea.

 

He’s still not settled when he wakes up again later. It’s not something he can put his finger on, but he knows the nest he has isn’t right. Maybe the right place is his dad’s house, his childhood home. He was a baby there, maybe this is where the new baby should start. And even if his father’s house isn’t the right place, he’s sure his dad will know what to do.

He brings along some of his clothes along with Peter’s sweater, all arranged in his backpack, with the egg carefully set inside, surrounded by warmth and softness. His Dad’s not home when he gets there, no surprise, he’s probably still at work. Stiles settles into his favorite chair, shifting into his crow shape. He takes a minute to arrange a quick nest and settles in to watch TV, while snuggling on his egg.

When his father comes home a few hours later, Stiles is asleep, head tucked under his wing with the egg securely underneath him.

“Stiles? Stiles, wake up.”

He wakes and looks at his father, with vision that’s so much better now than in his human form. Unfortunately, conversation is harder in this form, so he shifts back, knowing his father won’t be concerned that he’s naked, sitting in what was his mother’s chair and is now the one he’s claimed when he’s home.

His father sighs and collapses into his own recliner, the one they’ve had since Stiles was a kid at home. Everything still works and so why change it? “So, what’s going on, son? Did you get a girl pregnant?”

He tries not to roll his eyes, because really, his dad tries. “No, and if I did and if she laid an egg, I hope she’d keep it. I mean, it would be up to her, of course, but I don’t think that’s even a thing, is it?” Before he lets himself get too distracted, he says, “Dad, I have a problem and I need your help.”

Noah gets the short version of what happened and how he found his egg. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s important, I knows that. And I know I’m supposed to take care of it, but I can’t quite figure out how.”

“Well, um, I’m not sure what to tell you, but you usually figure this kind of stuff out.” His father studies him for a minute before he shrugs. “Can you figure out what is it that’s good with it and what’s not? It looks like you brought over some, I guess nesting material? Is that what you need? Are you comfortable here? You can stay here, although I will say, it’s a little weird in the living room.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think this is the right place,” he answers and checks on the egg, hoping it might be ready to hatch. It might be a little bigger, it’s hard to tell when he’s been shifting back and forth from human to crow. He should probably get a measuring tape or something. “I thought maybe it was supposed to be here;  I know it’s not right at my apartment. I guess I just can’t get comfortable with it, there’s something else that needs to be there and I don’t know what’s missing.”

“Who else knows about it? And are you hungry, I can put something together,” he says, gesturing towards the kitchen as though he has food there.

“Everyone by now. Most of the pack was around when we found it.”

“So do you think anyone can help with it?” Noah stops and takes a breath, worry etched on his face. “Do they know now? About you and the…” He flutters his hands like wings and Stiles has to bite his lips now to keep from laughing.

“I don’t know who can help, they don’t feel the ties to it, you know? Or maybe you don’t, hell, I don’t know. But no, no one officially knows. I think Derek and Peter suspect something though.”

“Derek’s suspicious about everything, even though it’s locking the door after the horse’s escaped. I guess better late than never.” He looks at his son’s make-shift nest again and raises an eyebrow. “Is that his sweater? Peter’s? I mean, it’s too nice to be yours.”

“Maybe,” Stiles answers and quickly shifts back into his crow, nestling in, turning his head away from his father.

Noah sighs and says, “Ignoring me and this isn’t going to help. What do you want to do and how can I help? Because you’re not building a nest in my favorite chair. My second favorite chair.” When Stiles doesn’t respond, Noah gets up, calling over his shoulder. “I’m making myself a chicken sandwich. I’ll make one for, too.”

“Thanks, Dad.” It’s weird not making his father dinner, but since he moved out, he’s been trying not to be too bossy with his father’s food. And he makes some pretty good choices, with just a little encouragement. Stiles has seen the low-fat mayo in the fridge along with some low-fat cheese options. He cuddles his egg while waiting, making sure the nesting materials, including Peter’s sweater, are all wrapped around it, keeping it warm.

It’s comfortable eating in the living room and his father’s sandwich making ability is spot-on with toasted bread and cheese and slightly warm roast chicken. There’s even a tomato slice and one piece of lettuce, but hey, it could be a lot worse, right?

“You’re thinking, I can smell the gears frying.” Noah takes both plates, putting them on the coffee table to deal with later. “Got an idea?”

“Peter knows about the egg, and like I said, I think he knows what I am. Or you know that at least I’m something. Maybe he won’t be freaked out, not like Scott or Derek would be, you know?”

“Scott’ll wonder why you haven’t told him before. Derek hates surprises. Peter…” He pauses and scowls before continuing, “Peter’ll probably help you and like being the only one who knows. You think that’s safe? I have to say there’s something about him I just cannot trust. I’ll even say I almost understand his revenge spree, but still. Will you be safe? While you’re there and in the future?”

Stiles considers it for a minute, thinking of what he knows about the wolf and the man. “He will like the knowledge and I think he’ll appreciate being the one who knows, the one I trust. I mean, the one _we_ trust with this.” This next part might be iffy, but he continues, “He likes me, you know? He’s always respected my intelligence and that, um, my morals…”

“He likes that you’re not as black and white as Scott?” his father asks with an eyebrow raised. “I know. I don’t love it, but you and Peter both do what needs to be done around here. I’m also not sure I like him liking you; he’s a lot older than you.”

“Dad! That’s not what I meant!” Although that wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, if he’s honest. “Anyway, how about you drive me to his house and help me explain what’s going on and who I am and see if I can stay there until the egg hatches?”

“You’re gonna owe me steak, you know?”

“Sure. If we can convince Peter to let me hatch an egg in his house, maybe we can get him to pay for dinner, too.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes to Peter's house and Peter learns a bit more about his favorite human. Oh, and Noah threatens him because you kind of have to.

Peter barely gets the door open before Stiles pushes past him, going down the hall to where the bedrooms are. Peter looks over his shoulder, ready to follow, but before he can, Noah grabs his arm and pulls him into the living room, pushing him onto the couch.

There’s little noises from down the hall, drawers and closets opening, but Peter doesn’t have a chance to ask.

“Okay, we need to talk and I’ll start with, I don’t like this, but…” Noah shakes his head and sighs, looking at Peter, making sure he’s paying attention. “This is my son, Hale. My only child and I’m not a perfect parent by any definition, but I’ll do whatever I can to help him.”

“Understood,” Peter answers quickly and honestly. “Family is everything. Believe me, I understand that, Sheriff. Can you tell me what’s happening and how I can help? This is something with the egg, isn’t it?”

Noah sits back, suspicious as always. “Not sure why you want to help or why Stiles had to come here, but he did. This egg, you know. I don’t know what it is, but…”

Peter nods waiting for the older man to continue.

“He’s not like other kids his age. Hell, he’s not a kid anymore either.” Noah studies him, and Peter doesn’t move. “You know that, though. You know he’s… he’s something.”

Peter can only nod again, waiting for Noah to continue, trying not to show how excited he is. Stiles is something, he knew it!

“I figured you knew. Claudia said that there were wolves in the town and that you’d know about us. Well, about them. Claudia and Stiles. Their kind.”

“Of course,” Peter says, lying smoothly because while he knows Stiles is something, just what that something is isn’t something he knows. “What can I do for him? For your family?”

“It’s that damn egg,” Noah says, running a hand through his hair. “He’s obsessed with it, says it’s important and I know enough to know if he says it’s something, than it’s something.”

Peter nods, raising an eyebrow, bidding the man to continue.

“He’s nesting. His mom did it and she told me about it. Not like Stiles came from an egg, but when she was pregnant, she wanted to have, well a nest. Lots of blankets and clothes and things she liked around her. And just because it’s not his egg doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to take care of it, that’s what they do. Not like regular birds, you know?”

“Certainly, natural birds don’t often care for others’ eggs.” There’s been a few noises from down the hall, probably his bedroom, but this is interesting and Stiles probably can’t get into too much trouble. Probably. And birds, okay.

“Right!” Noah almost yells and then checks himself, taking a breath. “Right. So he needs to find a place where he feels comfortable and safe and it took a bit, but he told me he wants to be here.”

“For his nest?” Peter tries to decide if this will inconvenience him more than it interests him. “I’m flattered, I guess. I do like to keep our pack’s human – well, our pack’s non-werewolf – safe.”

“Yeah.” Noah chuckles, shaking his head and smelling proud. “He’s pretty good at taking care of himself. He might not be strong, but he’s pretty damn fast, and I swear he can see around corners. But I think – I know that he likes that you’re looking out for him.”

Noah’s scent goes bitter and Peter understands; the man is smart and smart people worry about Peter. “I am looking out for him, Sheriff. He’s a good person, an asset to our pack. I’d never take advantage of him, I’m sure you know that.”

“I like to think that, but in my line of work…”

“He seems settled, I haven’t heard anything for a few minutes,” Peter says, quickly changing the subject. “Do you think he’s ready to discuss what he needs?”

“He may be settled, but I doubt he’s ready to talk,” Noah answers, chuckling as he pushes himself out of Peter’s plush chair. “Let’s go see if he’s comfortable.”

 

Stiles has a nest. Peter’s clothes and some of Stiles, and a BHPD t-shirt that must be Noah’s. Stiles is a crow. A crow in Peter’s closet, wrapped around the egg, glaring at them. A jet black crow. It’s glorious.

“Well. Well, I have to say I didn’t quite expect this,” Peter says, trying not to be too curious. At least not yet. “He seems comfortable. I hope he’d tell me if he isn’t.”

Noah looks at his son, checking to see if there’s obvious signs of distress, but since he’s sitting quietly and not cawing or otherwise crying, Noah can only assume he’s comfortable enough.

“So.” Peter sits on the edge of a dresser, gesturing for Noah to sit on the foot of his bed, closest to the closet where Stiles has made his nest. “So, he can certainly stay here until he’s hatched his egg, or _the_ egg, I suppose is more accurate. What do I need to do?”

“He’ll tell you, he’ll be shifting back and forth. He’s Stiles in there, you know?”

Peter absolutely knows; when he’s a wolf, he’s still Peter, just a bit more wolfish. “Of course, but thank you for confirming. I’m assuming that when I talk with him, he understands with Stiles’ normal brain?”

Stiles picks that moment to caw, shuffling around the closet, picking at the clothes around him that make up the egg’s nest.

“I think that’s your answer.”

“Understood. Anything else I need to know or need to do to make sure my guests are happy?”

 

“And you’re okay if he stays here and does – whatever he needs to do?”

It’s been close to an hour and Peter’s listened to all of Noah’s instructions and explanations and demands. Sure, whatever, he just wants to see what’s going on in his bedroom.

“Of course, whatever you both need. The guest room is ready and Stiles can sleep… where does he need to sleep?”

Noah tilts his head, much like a bird and looks at Peter. “I think the point of this is he’ll stay on his nest. That he just built. In the closet. He needs a place to be comfortable, to be sure he’s safe with his… with the egg. His egg, I guess.”

“Oh, of course.” Peter sighs looks at the mess of clothes in the bottom of his closet. “That’s fine, he needs to do whatever it is that he needs to do, I guess. I’ll admit I’m not very experienced with crow shifters or magic eggs.”

“I’m not saying we are, but Stiles seems pretty sure of what he’s doing, and I guess I have to trust him.” Noah scratches his head and checks his watch, before looking back at his son.

Stiles blinks and makes a quiet little chuffing sound, something Peter’s probably not noticed from crows before.

“You don’t need to leave your room, Peter, I don’t think Stiles will bother you in here. He’ll probably be pretty quiet now that he’s got a comfortable nest.” Noah kneels down by his son, using a finger to gently pet his head, smoothing down the slick, black feathers. “This is good for you, right? You’re good here, comfortable?”

Stiles nods, making little cackles and clicks and settles back down, grooming the feathers in his wings, using his beak to tap his father’s hand.

“I thought the guest room would be for you? You’ll be staying while he’s here, right?”

Noah raises an eyebrow at Stiles. This is the first time he’s seen Peter actually nervous about something and it’s his son making him nervous. His son who is now just about one foot across from wing tip to wing tip. “Peter, I think both of you will be fine. He’s picked where he wants to keep his egg and I guess he feels safe with you. Me, I have to go to work. Besides, Stiles hasn’t lived with me since he left for college and I’m pretty sure you don’t need two roommates, especially since it’s only Stiles who needs to be on the nest.”

“Wait!” Peter turns and looks at Stiles, who is watching their conversation with bright, black eyes. “How am I supposed to take care of him? I know nothing about crows or taking care of them!”

“He can talk, he’s not locked in this form. Honestly, when he’s not a bird, it’s hard to make him not talk.”

Stiles squawks in response and Peter would swear he’s frowning.

Noah shifts back to face the nest and says, “You’re sure you’re okay here? This is the right place?”

Stiles makes a soft sound and nods and Noah gives him a final, gentle tap on the forehead. “Okay, kiddo, you know more about what you need than I do. Be sure to text me or call me every day, okay? And eat and … Just don’t sit there all day, okay?” He sighs and shakes his head. “I know it’s a nest, but – just be sure to fly around a little, eat. Whatever. Love you.” He winces as he stands, using the knob to Peter’s closet to help himself up. “Just the knee, kid, don’t give me that look.”

Peter smiles at how easily the father and son relate, even with Stiles’ current shape. “I’ll make sure he shifts and texts you, Sheriff. It’ll be a good reason to make sure he doesn’t just sit in my closet for – what did you say, two weeks?”

It’s Noah’s turn to shrug, glancing back and giving Stiles a smile as they walk back to the living room. “Maybe? I don’t know; like I said, Stiles wasn’t born from an egg, believe it or not. And no one knows what the hell is in _that_ egg, so – hoping?”

“Lovely.”

“So let me ask. Do I need to threaten you, Hale? Hurt my son and I’ll shoot you and all that stuff?”

Stiles squawks once and even from the other room, Peter notices how embarrassment smells the same in both forms.

“No, no thank you, Sheriff. I’m quite sure you have wolfsbane bullets, courtesy of Chris Argent.”

“Yeah, he’s given me a couple of boxes. Told me to mix them up so it’s harder to figure out which type was used,” Noah says, with a chilly smile.

“Again, lovely,” Peter says, trying to catch any noises from Stiles. Hopefully, the boy will support him – he’d assume so, the boy did pick him.

“Of course I’m sure a headshot would work with just a regular bullet. I mean, I understand werewolves can heal from a lot, but…”

Peter nods and interrupts, “Yes, we tend to need our heads. I am well warned, Sheriff, and I appreciate your family’s trust. I’ll be sure to take care of Stiles and his egg like they’re my own.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Peter settle in together. Not much happens.

After Noah leaves, Peter wanders into his kitchen, downing one glass of wine and pouring another. Not that it does anything to his mood, but he likes to think so. At least it tastes good.

“Okay. Bird boy in my closet, unknown egg that could be, well, anything.” He takes another sip and starts back towards his room. “Maybe all those fires were trying to warn me.” He enters his room and sits on the bed looking at Stiles.

“That green sweater is cashmere, so try not to ruin it.” Leaning forward he checks everything in Stiles’ nest, at least the things he can see. “You went through both my laundry basket and the dry cleaner’s pile? Wonderful. And I know that plaid thing is not from my closet. You ran through my house rather quickly, but I’m guessing that’s something you were once wearing?” He sets his glass on the bedside table and flops back, legs hanging over with his feet on the floor. “Doesn’t Scott make you feel safe?”

“Not really, it’s different now,” Stiles says, grinning as Peter quickly sits up. “Hey there.” He shrugs and looks down at the egg now cradled in his hands. “Sorry I didn’t tell you before; I guess it’s like your family. My mom always said it’s ‘need to know,’ you know? Of course you do. And after what happened with your family, I certainly wasn’t going to tell just anyone.”

“Of course, and I wouldn’t dream of telling you otherwise; protection is always smart.” Peter squats in front of Stiles, grinning when his blush extends into his chest. “So tell me, little bird, what do you need now? How can I make you and our guest more comfortable since it seems you’ll be here for the long term.”

“Just until he hatches.” Stiles looks at the egg with what looks to Peter like genuine concern and perhaps even affection. Interesting. “I don’t know quite how long since we don’t know what this is. If it were my family, I’d say, maybe three weeks? Maximum, because we don’t know how, uh, how fresh he is?”

“Well, I guess that’ll work. You do what you need to, tell me what you need from me and…” Peter shrugs looking back at Stiles sitting on the floor of his closet. He’s totally covered, at least the important bits, but Peter’s willing to enjoy whatever he can. Stiles’ arms and shoulders are more muscular than his pile of loose, sloppy clothing show, and when Peter thinks about it, that’s probably the idea. Cover some of the muscles from using his wings. “And don’t forget to text your father every day.” Peter looks around the room and says, “Do you want the radio or television on? Do you have your phone?”

“You could plug my phone in if there’s a plug nearby.” Stiles looks around and nods towards a wall by him. “Plug’s there, if that’s okay. And maybe turn on the television? Just some news or something, I should keep updated. Glad this is vacation.”

“Sure.” Peter turns it on, putting the remote by Stiles’ nest. “Hope this is okay and you can see…”

“It’s fine,” Stiles answers, moving around for a second before the air around him shimmers and then he’s back to what Peter saw before, a large black crow.

He’s handsome, as far as birds go, healthy, sleek and slightly intimidating. Peter knows that crows are fierce, smart and have a sense of humor. Honestly, he’s not sure why he didn’t figure this out before. Stiles never smelled completely human, but not like any of the shifters Peter’s familiar with. “I’ll check in with you later, I guess.”

Stiles nods, pulling a bit of sweater over his egg, squirming until he’s covered it completely, seemingly happy in Peter’s pile of clothes.

 

Peter tries to be normal with a young man who’s kind of a friend, and sometimes a crow, in his closet. Stiles shifts into his human form a couple of times a day to eat the meals Peter provides and text his dad.

“You’re really being nice about this, feeding me and everything,” Stiles says, shoveling homemade meatloaf and mashed potatoes into his mouth. “I mean, I didn’t think a lot about this, but I guess I figured I’d get carryout or something.”

“Carryout is good sometimes, but a real meal is always going to be better. I don’t know about your kind, but for wolves, shifting takes a lot of energy. Even an all-meat pizza doesn’t provide the needed nutrients – or taste as good as homemade.”

“True, too many chemicals,” Stiles answers, nodding and spooning some more gravy onto his plate. “And I hate to say it, but beef is really good. I usually make turkey or chicken for my dad, but…”

“Beef will always win, unless there’s game,” Peter says, nodding as he puts another slice on both his and Stiles’ plate. “Eat up, you need your energy to hatch your chick.”

“Might not be a chick. Don’t know what it’s going to be.”

 

He’s not sure why, but for most of his daily activities, Peter moves into his bedroom. It’s just as easy to read in there and of course his laptop travels easily.

Peter moves the television to a wall where Stiles can watch it while sitting on his nest. He gets used to talking to the bird, who nods and answers back, kinda-sorta. He quickly remembers to ask yes or no questions or save comments for when Stiles shifts. It’s a lot like being with his family, back when Talia was a hormonal teenager and wouldn’t shift from her wolf form. Peter knows the rules and it’s apparent Stiles does, too. He wouldn’t admit it anyone, but it’s nice.

 

When Stiles is a human, they study books to try to figure out what he’s sitting with and Peter tells him he can hear movement inside the egg. It’s hard to determine what exactly it is, but they both feel it’s not a “regular” bird.

“Will you still love our weird child, Peter?” Stiles grins, petting the egg as it sits against his chest in the snuggly that Peter brought home, after Stiles started to get nervous leaving the egg alone in the nest.

“Of course, I’ll always care for him.” He smiles back, pushing a plate of brie and crackers towards his guest. “You, however, you I might drown in the lake.”

“Wait ‘til he’s hatched then, okay?”

Peter shakes his head watching Stiles push a cheese cracker sandwich into his mouth, crumbs falling around him. “Obviously. You’re made for this, darling.”

 

Noah comes over after a couple of nights, just checking to be sure everything’s okay. He checks to be sure Stiles is still alive and Peter hasn’t killed him or eaten him or whatever it is the father of a were-creature smaller than a wolf might worry about.

“Egg looks bigger,” he says, kneeling in front of the closet.

Stiles nods, shifting just a bit so his father can take a better look.

“Probably can’t tell when it’ll hatch, right?” Noah asks Peter.

“No, I’m afraid not. We know it’s gotten a little bigger and I can hear something in there. But we don’t know when.”

Noah raises an eyebrow, looking back at his son. “And you don’t know what.”

“We’ll love it, whatever it is, as long as it’s healthy.”

In the closet, Stiles squawks, burying his head under his wing.

“Laugh, bird boy, I’m getting a cheeseburger on the way home.” When Stiles ruffles his feathers, Noah shrugs and says, “What are you going to do to stop me? Shit on my windshield?”

Peter bites his lips to keep himself from laughing, knowing he’d suffer for it later. As he escorts Noah out, he whispers, “You know, you probably set yourself up for a carwash.”

“I know,” Noah answers, sighing. “He was a surly teenage boy, and he’s only slightly better now.” He takes a hard look at Peter, enough that the wolf needs to make himself not turn away. “Things seem good. I’ll come by every couple of days. I’m not sure of my schedule, so it’ll be hard to let you know too far in advance…”

“Subtle. You’re always welcome, Sheriff. I know Stiles will appreciate the visits.”

Nodding, Noah turns to the door and mutters, “Thanks for taking care of him.”

He’s used to shifters, Peter realizes, and knows he’ll be heard by his son down the hallway.

And it’s stupid, but Peter know when this is done, he’ll miss both of them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Stiles develop a nice routine. The pack checks in. Peter takes a shift baby sitting.

The routine develops pretty quickly. Stiles in the bedroom closet sitting on the egg and Peter someplace nearby. Not lurking, Peter doesn’t lurk, especially not in his own house. But he’s around.

Derek texts every couple of days asking for an update, which isn’t much. “Still have the egg, we’ll let you know when something happens.”

Derek supposedly passes messages to the rest of the pack, letting them know that Stiles has the egg and he’s taking care of it. And no, they don’t know what it is. He avoids discussing Peter’s involvement, knowing that some (Scott, of course) won’t be happy hearing Stiles is potentially vulnerable in Peter’s diabolical clutches.

When Peter complains about Scott, Stiles just shrugs and shifts back into his crow form, stepping out from his pile of clothes and tucking his head under a wing.

“That is so juvenile, Stiles!” Peter yells, kneeling in front of the nest, eyes flashing. “What are you, a spoiled six year old?”

Before this, Peter didn’t know crows could chuckle.

 

It’s about ten days since Stiles invaded Peter’s home and they know there’s something happening with their egg – when it turned into “their” egg neither quite knows, but that’s the way it is. It’s gone from jokes about it with Noah to feeling like it’s really theirs.

It’s become bigger and brighter, but more than that, they can _both_ feel the movement inside.

“It’s warmer,” Stiles says, eating his dinner while in his nest. As in sitting cross-legged, egg in the open space, with sweaters over it and under it. And Stiles’ private parts covered as always with cashmere and silk.

Peter also has a plate on his lap, scooping up his chicken chili with the tortilla chips on the side. “And it’s bigger. More movement, too. Enough jalapenos?”

Stiles nods, wiping a string of cheese off his chin. This is one of his favorites; this is the second time in two weeks that Peter’s made the tomatillo-based chili for his hungry guest. “Delicious and tell me about it. It’s harder to keep him covered and warm when I’m in my, you know, my other form. But I feel like I should be, I don’t want him to be uncomfortable with a person sitting on him, no matter how much warmer I can be.”

“Maybe I can help.” Peter hasn’t offered much to the egg, just to Stiles since it seems he knows what’s needed. Maybe there’s some bird to bird knowledge; Peter will need to check. “I’m warm, you know that. Especially if I shift, I run a few degrees warmer than a human. I could curl up around it. Him. Whatever.” He’s surprised at how flustered he feels, hoping Stiles accepts his offer and at the same time fearing that he will.

“Maybe,” Stiles answers, scent full of hope, sweet and clean. “I’d like to take a long shower and just, maybe get out of here for an hour. Gotta say, I’m a little stir crazy.”

“You’ll have to tell me what to do,” Peter says, nervous, but strangely willing to help this boy, an important part of the pack and now, maybe more? Maybe or hopefully. “I guess I’d just shift and… what? Sleep next to it? Around it?”

Stiles pushes his empty bowl away, checking on their egg. “Yeah that’s about it. Gotta say, it’s not the most interesting thing in the world. Probably good with your warm, furry belly. Maybe you could do it for a couple of hours? You could take a nap or watch TV or…”

He smells a bit anxious now, all hope gone. The dusty smell Peter associates with his shifted self is stronger than usual. But it’s not a hardship and the boy certainly needs the break. Peter tries not to think of the extra points he might get for this. “Of course. It’s not like I need to change a diaper or prepare bottles or anything. Take a shower and get out of here.”

“Thank you.” His eyes sparkle and he practically dances towards Peter throwing arms around his neck. “Thank you, I just need to get out for a little bit!”

Peter can’t keep himself from scent marking the boy’s throat, smothering the whine that wants to escape at the naked young man in his arms. “Any time.”

There’s a minute that might be a little awkward before Stiles pulls away, pulling clothes out of “his” dresser drawer. “So thanks, yeah. Thank you.”

While his back is turned, Peter quickly strips and shifts, stretching out his different muscles and growling quietly, more to clear his newly shaped throat than anything else.

“You okay? Oh. Wow, that’s fast.” Stiles sees him in the closet, already curled around the egg and for a moment his heart skips a beat, which might be what makes Peter raise his head. He looks huge all the time and compared to the egg, he’s enormous. “Hey. You look comfortable, so, uh, thanks again. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Do you want the TV on?” He points the remote at the television and waits.

Peter shakes his head, and arranges himself on his side, pulling the egg snug against his belly. He flashes his eyes once and then shuts them with a sigh. Let Stiles have some time and he gets to be a hero _and_ take a post-dinner nap. Yes, he’s Saint Peter Francis Hale.

“Thanks,” Stiles mutters, still standing in the doorway. “Back soon.”

 

Peter doesn’t wake up when the crow flies in through the patio doors early the next morning. Stiles perches on the dresser facing the closet and just watches him. The wolf is asleep, mouth slightly open and his back paws are twitching slightly, like a dog having a dream. Stiles hopes Peter’s dream is a good one, maybe with rabbits and nothing frightening. He puts down the stone he found; it’s nothing special, just something shiny he thought Peter might like it. Or probably not. It’s stupid, but he couldn’t help himself.

Stiles jumps off the dresser and hops into the closet. He checks on the egg and nudges Peter.

The wolf opens an eye and snorts, poking Stiles with his snout. Stiles settles down on the other side of the egg, resting his head on one of Peter’s paws. He doesn’t even squawk when Peter gives him a lick. Then they both shut their eyes and fall back asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations, it's a .... what is that?

“Did you have a good break?” Peter asks the next morning, bringing coffee and a hot breakfast burrito into the bedroom to give to Stiles. “I didn’t think you’d shift, I guess I expected you to be human?”

Stiles sips at his coffee, shutting his eyes with a sigh. “I was mostly, and yes, thanks for taking over,” he says, holding up his cup in a toast. “I didn’t do a lot, I mean, I went for a drive and went to Arby’s and ate crap. Then I thought I might feel less sick in my other self.” He shakes his head, biting the burrito, and pulling out a chunk of bacon. “It didn’t help at first, but then after a bit, it was good, you know? Of course you know.”

“Well it wasn’t too much of a hardship, so let me know if you need it again.” He holds out his hand and raises an eyebrow. “By the way, do you happen to know how this got into the closet?”

Stiles looks at the Rolex on Peter’s wrist and shrugs, grin playing on his lips. “I wanted something to check the time while I was in the nest?”

“I suppose your phone was too challenging while in the nest? Or is it just that this is shinier?”

“It is pretty,” he admits, using his fork to pick out another piece of bacon. “Sorry?”

“No, you’re not. You stink of smugness.”

Stiles shrugs again, and reaches over to pull Peter’s plate closer. “Nope, guess I’m not.”

“Thank you for the rock.”

Stiles chews on a potato and tries not to blush.

 

“When is this damn thing gonna hatch?” Stiles is still sitting in his closet nest, currently human. As of now, they’re both hoping his larger size might generate more heat and speed up hatching. “Peter, it was kind of relaxing the first couple of days, maybe even a little fun. And then it got tiring and now it’s completely boring.”

“It has to be any day now, I swear it’s bigger than yesterday.”

Stiles looks down at the egg, tucked in between his crossed legs. “Yeah, I guess so, I didn’t think eggshells grew. It feels like it’s ready to hatch, I don’t know why I think that, I just think…” He stops and looks at the egg again and then smiles at Peter. “Something’s happening! I just felt a little – something. There’s something happening and listen, you can hear it!”

“I can,” Peter confirms, stepping closer to the closet. “It’s cracking, isn’t it? The shell?”

“You can hear it?”

Peter nods and squats in front of them, shutting his eyes in concentration. “There’s definitely tapping and I guess it sounds like an egg’s cracking. I don’t have a lot of experience from the inside. Can you do anything, do you see a crack? Should you stay there or…”

“How the hell do I know, you do know I’m making this all up as I go along?”

“Well, clearly it’s closer to your species than mine!”

“How do you figure that? We don’t even know what…”

They both stop and Stiles pulls back a bit when they see the break in the shell and something kind of pink pushing its way out.

“Is that… can you help it? Should you?” Peter asks, reaching forward and then pulling back in case it’s the wrong thing to do. He has no idea what the right thing to do is and is suddenly very, very aware that neither does Stiles, no matter what he says or what he looks like. Egg doesn’t automatically equal bird. Lots of bad things come in eggs when you think about it.

“Let me…” Stiles uses a finger to gently pick off the shell above the creature’s head. “Here you go, little guy. Or girl, or whatever, you be you.”

The being pushes its head out, looking a bit like a baby lion, which makes Stiles coo. Then it flexes its wings, a bit like a small bird and finally stumble-walks out of its shell. Its face is a bit like a lion cub, soft and furry with round little ears. But it has wings like a bird – like an eagle. And four feet, two tight to its chest and all kind of bird-like. Or not lion-like at least. And then where it might have a tail, there’s something that might be a lizard or a snake. Whatever, the tail glides back and forth with the scales shining, shaking off the last of the eggshell.

“The fuck is that?” Peter asks, moving back, eyes flashing and fangs dropping without him even realizing it.

“I have no idea, why are you asking me?” Stiles moves back as well, but part of him insists that he pet the little being on the head, smiling when it shuts its eyes, pushing its head into Stiles’ his fingers. “Oh! Oh, look, Peter! It’s… it’s…”

What it does next is to nudge its face into Stiles’ hand and then, it opens its little mouth, showing a lot of tiny, sharp teeth. Which it wraps around Stiles’ fingers and makes a little squeak.

“Ow! Little bugger has teeth! And maybe he’s hungry. He? She? I have no idea what I’d be looking for. How about you?”

Peter raises an eyebrow and steps back, arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t even know what that is, or where it’s from, let alone how to determine its gender. And hungry? What do we feed it? If it wants to nurse like some kind of cat, we’re fucked. No wait, you’re fucked.”

“I don’t know what it needs, and try to be supportive to our baby, okay? Let’s see what’s in the kitchen. Maybe it’ll let us know?” He’s careful when he picks up his new charge, one hand under its chest and the other supporting its legs. “Huh, little claws; guess I should be used to that, right?”

“It’s the birdiest part of him, I guess.” In spite of his words, Peter can’t help but be curious – and concerned, hovering behind Stiles to make sure he doesn’t trip on his own feet and that both he and the bird-like creature are okay. “I’ve no idea what to feed it. Or what to do with it or when it’s safe to let it out – and where do we let it out? Because I have a feeling this is not a keeper.”

“Peter, let’s just feed the baby and we’ll figure it out from there.”

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking care of their babe, and planning what should happen next.

“Feed the baby, feed the baby, hmm. Peter, what do you think?” Stiles holds up loaf of bread in one hand with the newly hatched whatever-it-is in the other. “Birds eat bread, right? Would you like to try this?” he asks the creature snuggled against his chest.

“Birds do, but will this? It’s kind of a … mammal-headed thing, maybe?” He steps forward and drags his finger on the creature’s forehead, the first time he’s touched it, and the creature responds with a tiny “coo,” tilting its head back towards Peter, who pets him again.

“Aww, he likes you, Daddy, and that’s nothing I ever expected to say. To you, at least.” Stiles tears off a piece of bread, offering a tiny bit as a taste and they watch the creature turn its head away. Stiles tries not to feel like a terrible parent.

Peter hides a smile, leaning into the fridge to see what’s there. “I don’t think milk or cream would be good, it’s not completely a cat. I have a roast chicken, let’s see if he’d like that.” Peter takes it the counter and tears off some pieces. “It’s either that or one of us shifts and goes to catch some mice.”

“Chicken, that’s great, let’s make our child a cannibal. But, why not, I have no idea what Articuno would like.”

“No. No, Stiles, you can’t name him that! You can’t name him after a Pokemon character. Especially not one who’s a bird, he might have wings, but he’s not a bird, Stiles.”

Stiles grins, not hiding it at all, as he accepts the chicken leg from Peter. It’s with lemon and rosemary, leftover from dinner Peter made a couple of nights ago. He tears off the skin, in case it’s too spicy and holds it out to the creature. It reaches out and sniffs at it before taking a tiny bite, humming happily. “Look, he’s eating it. And you’re a total nerd that you know that’s a Pokemon’s name, so don’t play dumb with me, wolfie.”

“Shut up and set him down, let him eat, let’s see what happens.” He shrugs and says, “Famous last words before we all die.”

“Don’t tell me to shut up in front of the baby, he’ll get the wrong idea about his parents. Oh and you’re a huge bummer, clearly you’ll be the disciplinarian and I’ll be fun Dad.” They watch as Articuno eats a few more bites of chicken, and he then sits back with a huff. “Water? He probably needs water, right?”

“I’ll get a bowl,” Peter says, looking in the cabinets for something small and shallow. “And what is he, Stiles?”

“Why would you think I know more now than I did ten minutes ago?” he asks, taking the dish from Peter and setting it down in front of their tiny charge. It sniffs at the bowl and Stiles dips his fingers in, holding them out for the creature who licks the drops of water off. Stiles does it a couple of times until the baby settles down on the counter, wrapping its tail around itself with a quiet huff. “It is cute, whatever it is. Any idea? I haven’t seen anything like this in our books – your books, that is.”

“No idea what he is. If he’s a he.” He runs his finger across the creature’s head, between its furry ears, which twitch in response. Just below its neck, the fur turns into small, gold-brown feathers, with wings that seem larger than when it hatched an hour ago. Beyond the wings, instead of a regular bird tail, there’s a long tail that reminds Peter of a snake or lizard only because of the scales. Individually, he knows the parts, but together, it’s nothing he’s seen or read about before. “He’s not really a griffin or a chimera, close though. Thankfully, his tail isn’t a snake head. I’m not sure this is something… something from this world. Stiles, honestly, I’m not sure what to do with this. With him. Maybe we shouldn’t have…”

Stiles points at him, eyes briefly turning black. “Do not say it. Do not say it, do not even _think_ it. There’s no way we shouldn’t have done this, it felt right. It felt right then, and it still feels right and there was no way I couldn’t, so you just… Don’t.”

“Sorry, okay, Stiles, calm down, don’t ruffle your feathers.” Peter grins, way too wide for such a bad pun.

The younger man looks at the creature, now sleeping on a kitchen towel on the granite countertop. “I just… I just want to take care of him, I want to be sure he’s fine and grows up and he’s happy. That’s weird, isn’t it? I don’t know what he is or even if he’s a he, but…”

Peter looks towards heaven and sighs. “You are a pathetically soft hearted thing. Especially for a trickster crow.”

“I must be softhearted or soft headed -- I kinda feel the same way about you. Not the growing up part, obviously, but the rest of it. Kinda,” he answers, scratching his head and focusing on the sleeping baby on the counter. “I mean, you can be nice, actually nice, when you want to be. You just don’t want people to know it.”

“I haven’t seen very favorable results with being nice. And it wasn’t the role I was raised for. Lieutenant, protector, enforcer…”

Stiles nods and shrugs. “Left hand, guy who does the dirty work so the King can pretend to be clean. Or Queen, I guess. Yeah, I get it.”

They’re quiet for a minute, just watching Articuno sleep when he suddenly wakes up, shaking his head, opens his mouth and makes a tiny growl. Which would be adorable if it weren’t accompanied by a tiny burst of flame, no bigger than a disposable lighter.

“Oh, fuck me, well of course!” Peter steps back, crossing his arms over his chest as his fangs drop. “I refuse to believe that Derek can be right and that he’s a dragon. But whatever he is, this isn’t a house pet, Stiles.”

“Of course he’s not a house pet, Peter!” Stiles pets down Articuno’s back, and mutters calmly, waiting until he tucks his head under his wing, back asleep. “There, see, it’s fine. Back asleep. Hey, that’s how I like to sleep.”

Peter raises an eyebrow, and sighs. “Stiles, it’s not fine.” He takes Stiles’ hand and directs him to the chair by the kitchen counter, close enough so he can still keep his eye on his charge, back asleep on the countertop. “Stiles…Stiles.” He sighs again, shaking his head. “Stiles, we need to take him back to the preserve. And, I don’t know, maybe his mother will show up.”

“The pack’s looked in the preserve and they haven’t found anything!”

“Well, maybe they don’t know what to look for, or, or, maybe when he’s there, that’ll be what’s needed to pull her back from wherever she is! Whatever she is.”

“I’m not leaving him alone there, Peter. I’m not just going to leave him there to die or something.” Stiles stands, moving around Peter and scoops up the little creature, holding it to his chest, neither mentioning that it’s grown already since it hatched just a short time ago.

“Stiles, you need to think about this. You and I are creatures who are different than most, yes, but we are of this world. He’s… he is something different, he’s like an alien or something.”

“He deserves a chance, Peter. We were trusted with him and he’s too young to take care of himself. And for the record, I don’t like you any more.”

“Well of course not,” Peter says, rolling his eyes. “Concentrate, please. And maybe we were just given hatching duties and his mother or father or whatever will be back for him.”

“Then she’s a bad mom and doesn’t deserve him!”

“Where are you going?” Peter asks as Stiles walks back towards his bedroom, back towards the nest on the closet floor.

“We need a few minutes to rest and be alone.” He sets his new baby into the nest, and sighs, standing with his back to Peter. “And then I guess we’ll go back to the preserve and see if Articuno has a mother to take care of him. A good mother. But, I’m not leaving him alone, Peter. He can burn my house down, but I am not leaving him to be by himself.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys take Articuno back into the preserve. But it's okay, really.

“Okay, little guy, just a few more minutes and we’re there. Then we’ll see if we can get you back home.”

Stiles stuck to his guns for a few hours, but now Articuno has grown again, almost filling Stiles’ arms. So although he’s grumbling, they’ve gone to the preserve, heading back towards where they originally found him, back to the Nematon.

Stiles kneels by the tree, setting the creature down, watching as Articuno turns and looks at the woods around him. He sets his hand on the tree stump and Peter watches as he shuts his eyes, lips moving in silent greeting. “Alright, wolf, what do you think we should do now? Do you know how to call for his parents?”

“No, crow, I don’t.” Peter looks around, with his eyes bright blue, looking into the woods. “I have no idea how to get him home. I don’t think their home is here though; I have to think if there were something in the preserve blowing out fire and growing as quickly as he is, we might have noticed it.”

“Do you think I should shift? Maybe we should both shift, maybe…” While he’s talking, Peter shifts into his weird looking beta face, which is never a good thing, but seems to be his preferred fighting form. “Peter?” he asks, looking over his shoulder to whatever it is that Peter’s staring and growling at.

There’s a tear in the sky next to the stump. That’s the only way to describe it, a tear and there’s something very big coming through it, something that can only be Articuno’s real parent. It’s at least the size of Peter’s Lexus, head and body looking very much like some kind of big cat – like a lion, but with more teeth. Its brown and black wings are tucked back, but Stiles can see how large they’d be if they were spread. Stiles can only blink as the hole closes when the tail slithers through, scales shiny bronze and now in the preserve.

The creature walks towards its young, tail thrashing on the ground and Articuno certainly seems to recognize something as he lifts his head and coos at his parent. His Mother, maybe, if you think that the lion head without a mane makes it a female.

“That is the cutest and most frightening thing I’ve ever seen,” Stiles whispers, as he moves closer to Peter’s side. “Our baby’s back with his mother and I’m gonna cry.”

“I’ll go with frightening. If momma breathes fire like baby does, we really better hope she goes back home.” Peter takes a step back, taking Stiles hand, which should be nice, but given the circumstances, isn’t. “Seriously, I haven’t caught on fire in over a year, I’d like to go for a record.”

“Agree. Do you want to tell her?”

Before Peter can say something else snarky and non-helpful, Momma ducks her head to the ground and picks up Articuno by his scruff, turning her head to put him on her back, secure between her wings. She turns and looks at the two shifters and bows her head again before turning around and going back to the new hole in the sky.

As she leaves, her tail thrashes and hits against the Nematon. There’s a rumble, like thunder, as she and the baby disappear and the entrance closes up again as though it never happened.

Stiles slumps to the ground, pulling Peter down next to him. “Well fuck. I will say that I have never seen or heard of anything like that before. Have you, Peter?”

Shaking his head, Peter says, “Nope. I was thinking I need to stop smoking so much wolfsbane, if I’m going to have visions like this. That was…”

“It sure was,” Stiles says, squeezing Peter’s hand once before letting go to look at the Nematon. “Shit, look at that!”

“Oh god, do I want to?” Peter looks where Stiles is pointing to see the stump covered with tiny, green shoots. “These are… she did this?”

“Guess so,” Stiles says, squatting down and giving the stump another pet. He cocks his head as though listening and before he can think about it, he’s up and jumping into Peter’s arms, wrapping his legs around the older man’s waist. “Oh my god, Peter!”

“Oh my god, indeed,” he says, easily holding Stiles up, hands under his butt. “I take it there’s something good?”

“Good? Yeah, more like great! It’s alive and whatever was hurting it’s gone – just like that, like it’s healed and happy and…”

“Happy and healed? That sounds good. I’m not sure how you know that, but you are full of surprises.” Peter loosens his grip on Stiles, enough that he could get down if he wanted to, but still secure. He takes a chance and tucks his face into Stiles’ throat, inhaling the warm scent of the two of them together and the fleeting scent of ArtiItcuno. “But it sounds good, and this is good, too. I think.”

“Is it?” Stiles asks, tilting his head back to give Peter more room, trusting him to hold tight and not let him drop. “It’s kind of sudden, I guess…”

Peter chuckles against his throat, and nips at the soft spot next to his collar bone, feeling Stiles shudder. “Sudden to whom, exactly? I think most of your friends think we’re already sleeping together.”

“Really? My friends are terrible.” He squirms a bit, just enough so Peter lets him down, but they keep their arms around each other. “So, I guess we should go home – back to your house, I mean, and clean up or something.”

“Or something.” Peter grins and they start their walk back to the car. “I was thinking I do have some red meat in the fridge. I could cook us dinner while you clean up your nest. And after that, maybe we can think of something else.”

“Something else? Like talking about what the hell is going on?”

“Stiles…” Peter sighs and takes the younger man’s hand, smiling at the spike in his scent. “I can’t explain any of this. You’re not human. You built a nest in my closet because you trust me and you successfully hatched…something.”

“And the something’s mother came from magic-town and healed the Nematon. Yeah.”

“I’m choosing to ignore that part; the egg was more than enough for one lifetime.” When they reach the car, Peter backs Stiles up it, raising their joined hands, studying Stiles’ fingers. “So… I make dinner while you clean the closet or… I could take you home to your father and you can pick up your things later or tomorrow.”

“Silly wolf,” Stiles answers, giving Peter a quick kiss before he shoves him back far enough to get into the car. “Red meat, and whatever else happens while we’re safe in my wolf’s house? Sounds good, Peter. Sounds like a good plan.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue - one year later.
> 
> I love an epilogue, wrap things up and make everyone get their happy ending.

It really is a great day to be working outside. Low 70s, not humid, sun shining. It’s one of those perfect Northern California days.

Erica sighs, adjusting her pony tail to get the hair off her neck. Now that she and Boyd have finished hanging the new swing on the porch, one of their assignments from Peter. “Why are we all doing this? It’s not like Peter doesn’t have money.”

Stiles pauses, wiping the extra varnish on the edge of the can. He squints and then goes over one of the spindles on the hand rail just a little more, cleaning up a streak. “We’ve hired people when they’re needed, like plumbing and electric work, but things like painting and such… just seems better to have the pack do it, you know?”

“Fewer strangers and more of our smell in the house, darling,” Peter answers, carrying another load of boxes in through the hole where the front door will go. “It’s tradition, at least tradition for our pack. When someone needs a house, the other pack members help with construction or moving, painting, whatever’s needed.” He’s back out in a minute, and gives Erica’s neck a squeeze before going down the stairs again. “If you and your Boyd ever decide to take the plunge, the pack will be there to help with whatever you need for a house.”

She watches him go to Derek’s mom-van, and pull out two more boxes, marked “Kitchen!!”  Looking over at Stiles, she smirks, saying, “Well, I’m sure that’s part of it and maybe if we get a house together, we’ll have you guys come over and help unload or something. And damn, Stiles, how much kitchen stuff did you two accumulate?”

“Hey, it’s mostly Peter’s! He’s a big appliance guy – well, not big appliances, but he’s got a lot of them.”

Lydia takes this moment to come outside with an arm full of canned sodas and bottled waters. “Your father sent a text that he and Randall will be here shortly with pizza. I think he’s pretty excited; he may have mentioned something about mega-meat.” She holds a can of root beer out to Stiles and says, “I’m going to go and unpack your kitchen; Peter said I could.”

“Ugh, okay.” He takes a long drink while he studies her and belches quietly before pointing a finger at her. “Now you’ve been in the apartment’s kitchen so you know where things go. Try to make it like that, more or less.”

Taking a step around the redhead, Peter kisses Stiles on the temple, snatching his brush. “Except this is so much bigger. Why don’t you go direct in there? I’ll finish up the bit out here and get things cleaned up for the night. I intend to rope Noah into helping me hang the front door.”

“Yeah, you need to be sure the house is safe for your first born, Batman!”

Stiles smiles at Peter, shrugging slightly. “Not the first, but one of many, hopefully, Catwoman.”

“Batman and Catwoman? Should I ask?” Peter asks, squatting down to study the work Stiles just finished.

“Inside joke, Wolfie, don’t worry, you’re my best friend.”

“Hello?” Erica asks, and it’s echoed by Lydia.

“Best friend with benefits,” Stiles clarifies. His friends nod, possibly satisfied for now.

Grabbing two sodas, Erica places the cushions on the swing and pulls Boyd down next to her, bouncing a little, while she looks at the chains to be sure they’re holding. “Yeah, of course, Peter’s your naked bestie. I think that might make him Deadpool? Batman and Deadpool had a baby?”

“I am much more handsome than Wade, I think everyone would agree.” Quality inspection completed, Peter puts the lid on the varnish, and tosses the used brush into a nearby bucket for cleaning later.

“Yeah, you’re a hottie, but you’re also sarcastic and inappropriate and you _were_ dead once and I’m told you have questionable sexual practices.”

“Fair enough,” Peter states and pushes Stiles towards the house. “I want my kitchen for the morning, please.”

“So bossy.” There’s still boxes everywhere and while the couch and chairs are in what will be the family room, it’s definitely not ready for a relaxing evening. Plastic covers are over everything and they’re pushed against the wall to make room for people carrying boxes. “Hmm, kinda hoping we could stay here tonight. Guess we’ll see what we can do over the next couple of hours.”

 

In the kitchen, Derek is on a ladder, putting the final touches on the hanging lights over the island. “Okay, and don’t ask me to do anything like this again! I told Peter, I can do flooring and dry wall and he seems to think that means anything he needs. I am not an electrician or a plumber.”

“Don’t whine, Derek, it’s not attractive.” Lydia doesn’t bother to look at him, just continues unpacking the kitchen boxes, smoothing out the paper towels wrapped around glasses, putting it off to the side. “I know Peter hired licensed contractors for most everything, especially things like electrical. Do you think he’s the type to think ‘close enough’ with electricity?”

“Besides you fixed the hanging hookie thingie for the lamp, not the actual electricity. And yeah, Peter’s kind of quirky about electricity and possible fires in the house, you understand?” When Derek snarls, Stiles snarls right back at him. “I can’t believe we can finally sleep here tonight. I mean for real with a real bed and everything. I mean I hope we can.”

Isaac turns, coffee maker in his hands, waiting for Lydia’s instructions. “I thought you had been sleeping here?”

“Well, we’ve kinda camped out, but more like rugs and blankets on the floor. And Peter doesn’t like it until all the doors are windows are secure and warded. So not sure it’ll be tonight, but…”

Kira comes in from upstairs, checking something on her phone. “Hey, can we borrow Isaac for a bit? We’re trying to put the bedframe together and I think we need another hand. Or maybe a construction crew.” The wolves can hear instructions from whatever video she’s watching as she smiles hopefully. Stiles has always loved Kira and Peter’s grown to appreciate her, too. She’s much less timid than when they all first met, perfectly capable of either ignoring Peter or snipping back at him.   
And since she sat them down and told her she doesn’t want to date anyone, they stopped trying to set her up.

“Sure, I’m perfectly fine with Isaac helping make the bed that Peter and I will have sex in later. Take Derek, too.”

There’s a few grumbles, as they try to decide which is worse, the kitchen or the bedroom, but they dutifully follow Kira up the stairs.

 

They’ve nearly finished unpacking, with Stiles putting items away where he thinks they’ll go. “There’s a lot more cabinets and the pantry is twice as large, Lyds! I mean, this pantry is like big enough to be a bathroom!”

“That’s an unpleasant thought, but yes, it is large.” She grabs his arm, and pushes him down into a chair. “Take a break, Stiles, have some water or something.”

Eyes narrowed, he takes a drink from his bottle on the table. “Are you going to lecture me about how this is really fast and how Peter’s so much older than I am and blah blah blah?”

“No, it’s a little late for that and you didn’t listen to me when you moved into his apartment, so there’s not much difference now.” She turns to take a bottle of water out of the fridge and grabs a small box off the kitchen counter. “Here. I found this wrapped up in paper and tucked into a coffee mug, which was tucked into another container. I think Peter wanted to be sure it was safe.”

Stiles smiles as he opens the box, knowing what’s inside. It’s an egg-shell, half of one, the piece that wasn’t too badly damaged by Articuno. “Thanks.”

“I assume the shell is from your found dragon?”

“Yeah, whatever he was.” He sets the box on the table and runs a gentle finger over the rough edges of the shell.

“I know he kept this on the mantle in the apartment. So maybe it’ll go the same place here?” She asks, pulling the box back towards her to look inside. “There’s a dime…”

“A shiny new dime,” Stiles corrects, sipping his water.

“And a rock.”

“A very sparkly rock. It’s quartz.”

She carefully pulls an item out of the box, holding it up to study it. “And one gold hoop earring, with no back.”

Stiles shrugs. “Secretly he wants to be a pirate?” He gives her a minute to put the earring back and says, “Is there something you want to ask me, Lydia?”

She leans back in her chair to study him for another long minute before she speaks. “You know, the wolves sometimes say you don’t smell entirely human.”

“Now that isn’t a question, is it?” He grins and tosses his empty bottle towards the sink. “Scott says I smell like chicken, the preserve and Peter. Which I guess all makes sense. My dad says with the amount of skinless, boneless chicken breasts I’ve served him over the years, he’s probably part chicken himself.” Stiles chuckles and continues, “Derek says I smell like Peter and guns, which this time I get to blame dad for. Hugging him or just being in the house with him, I guess?”

“Hard to say which Derek would appreciate less.” Lydia shuts her eyes, rubbing one for a second before she focuses on him again. “What does Peter think you smell like?”

“Umm, Adderall. The preserve and our house and him, which he makes sure of.” He sighs, pulling the small box towards himself, looking at the collection inside. “He says I smell like family. Like his mate.”

Peter drops a kiss on the top of his head and takes the small box, turning towards the living room. “My lazy mate, sitting down on the job. Good thing I love you.”

Leaning forward, Lydia and Stiles can both look into the other room and watch while Peter carefully takes the eggshell out of the box and places it on the end of the mantle.

 

Noah arrives with Randall firmly on his leash along with several bags of deli sandwiches. The pack quickly descend on both.

“Thanks for bringing dinner, Mr. Stilinski.” Erica has Randall on her lap, feeding him bits of her roast beef. “I love this dog, Stiles, you may never get him back.”

“Can’t have a dog in our apartment,” Boyd tells her and he actually looks a little sad. “What kind of dog is this anyway? I mean breed.”

“He’s a mutt,” Peter answers, pushing potato salad towards Stiles. “Mostly Unknown Tiny Terror. He’s terrier, pit, something else, I’m sure. He should get, knee high at the shoulder when he’s full grown.”

“Not too big, not too small.” Noah taps on his lap and Randall waddles over to him, letting Noah scoop him up. “See, he knows who his grandpa is. Now that everyone’s done eating, or nearly done eating, you should get to work on that front door. Derek knows how to install a door, I think you did the backdoor, right?”

That’s all the encouragement it takes to get Derek, Peter and Boyd working on the door while Noah directs from swing hung earlier.

“What else is left? Can we do anything?” Kira asks, cuddling under Isaac’s arm. Stiles still pretty much hates him, but Derek and Peter both say he’s trustworthy, so Stiles grudgingly allows him in the house. “I know you had a big list earlier this week.”

“Well, a lot of things got done, thanks to all of you.” Stiles pulls out his phone and flips to his calendar. “Umm. Rest of the week has sod in the back yard. Alarm system installed, which is good. Derek’s gonna finish the back stairs to the deck, or so I’m led to believe.”

“I should be paid.”

“You’re showing your pack how to operate, what a good, good alpha you are,” Peter says, kneeling to put the hinges on at the bottom while Boyd makes sure everything stays level. “Our gratitude and Stiles cooking should both be payment enough.”

Stiles can’t smell anyone the way the wolves can, but since everyone’s still grinning, he’s pretty sure it’s all a lot of snark and no real heat. “We’ll have a ‘Thank you for helping’ dinner when everything’s just the way we want it.”

“Don’t forget, we’ve got Miranda coming to do the wards. We’ll want to have the property lines all completed by then.”

Noah scratches his head, trying to figure out this language that comes to easy to most of them, so natural to his son. “So if the stairs aren’t completed when she does the warding…”

“Then they’re not included unless she comes back out,” Stiles explains. “It’s not a super big deal, but everything at one time is good.”

Derek grunts, standing back and studying the door before he moves for the locks Peter purchased and gets to work on those. “Just let me know the timing and I’ll get what you need.”

“Why isn’t Dr. Deaton doing it? He knows how, doesn’t he?” Scott lies back on the ground, and lets Randall chew on his fingers. “I thought that sort of thing was his job or his sister’s?”

Peter and Derek exchange a look and Stiles jumps in to keep diplomacy. Scott still works for the vet and will probably take over the practice at some point; he seems to genuinely like the man. “He could yeah, but Peter thought someone who was from the outside could, maybe, see things in a new light and might have some different ideas.”

“Deaton warded the original Hale house,” Boyd says, from his place next to Erica, always next to Erica. “I wouldn’t let that man give my cat a rabies shot.”

“Hey! That’s not fair, that’s…”

Stiles leans against his Dad’s shoulder, watching everyone in his pack as they pick at each other and bicker and act like a pack. There’s time to just shut his eyes for a minute while his mate secures their new home.

 

“I wasn’t asleep, I was just resting my eyes!”

“There’s drool on my shirt and you were snoring,” Noah answers, brushing off his pants and trying not to smirk too much. “We should get going so you guys can finish up whatever you need to and try to relax before bed.”

Stiles might flail a little as he watches his friends grab the warmer clothes they wore earlier when they started work in the cold. The sun’s setting and sweatshirts are pulled back on, too chilly even for the werewolves. Phones are checked and kisses and scenting starts so maybe they are going to leave. “Well, we’re not going to sleep right away! We still have rooms we haven’t had sex in!”

“You share too much,” Isaac says, checking to be sure Lydia has everything she brought with her in her giant bag. “How about tomorrow, you don’t need anyone until noon, right? And open the windows?”

Scott looks up from where he’s playing tug-a-war with Randall. “Hey, maybe I should take Randy for the night? Allison won’t mind and then he won’t be exposed to you defiling the entire house!”

“No, he’ll be fine here, we’ll cover his eyes so he doesn’t see the debauchery.” Stiles pats his leg and Randall comes and sits by him. It’s about the only thing he’s learned so far, other than that his grandfather will share any food he has with him, healthy or not. “And his name is Randall, not Randy. His full name is Randall Flagg Stilinski-Hale.”

“Is Flagg a family name, too?” Kira’s cute little nose wrinkles as she asks.

“Philistines,” Peter says, scooping up the dog in one arm, and Stiles’ waist in the other. “Good night, good bye, good luck, see you at noon!”

 

They straighten things up, throwing away paper plates and discovering that they have no idea where the garbage can is. It was around just a few days ago.

“Can’t your super nose smell it?”

“I’m holding a bag of garbage, Stiles, everything smells like garbage. Fuck it,” Peter says, putting down the bag and covering it with an empty moving box. “We’ll find it later. Now, I have an idea, my darling, for us to celebrate our real, actual first night in the house.”

“I think I like your idea.” Stiles starts tugging his shirt over his head, watching as Peter gets his jeans and underwear down at the same time. “Impatient. I hope we’re both thinking the same thing or this will be super embarrassing.”

Peter’s smile is full of teeth as he shakes his head and quickly shifts to his wolf. He yips at Randall, who runs to him, rolling over, showing his belly to his alpha.

“Thank god, we’re on the same page.” Stiles doesn’t say anything else as he finishes stripping and shifts, black wings flapping lazily as he circles his little family, his pack, before heading towards the preserve, conveniently just at the end of their back yard.

He says nothing in English, that is.

…end…

**Author's Note:**

> This is because of a couple of posts on Tumblr and some encouragement and --
> 
> I found a post that reminded me! Thank you to coffeeloverbrit and therulerofallpotatos for your thoughts and suggestions on this.


End file.
